


The Clumsy and Oblivious Badger in His Natural Habitat

by allyndra



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Panic at the Disco - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's time for Brendon to learn the names of people in other houses. Or at least, of one particular Gryffindor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clumsy and Oblivious Badger in His Natural Habitat

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for anon_lovefest

On Thursday, Brendon broke every one of his quills, got tangled by the venomous tentacula on his way into Herbology, and lost his Transfiguration essay. Professor Sprout just gave him a disappointed sigh and unwound him from the twisting plant tendrils, but Professor McGonagall assigned him an extra foot of essay as punishment. Brendon kind of thought the icy glare Professor McGonagall had leveled at him was punishment enough, and the twelve extra inches of writing was just overkill, but he kept his mouth shut. He looked around for someone to loan him a quill, but Professor McGonagall had been separating him from his friends since term began. Spencer was giving him sad eyes across the room, but that was no help.

"Hey," a soft voice drew his attention across the aisle. One of the Gryffindors was leaning toward him, smiling and holding out a quill.

"Thank you," Brendon said fervently. He might have said more, but the professor was turning toward him with the fire of detention in her eyes. As Brendon slumped into back into his chair and dipped his borrowed quill (and sleeve) into the inkwell, he told himself that the day could not possible get worse.

It could. Because the world hated him (the way this day was going, it was possible that the world hated his entire lineage and would continue to hate all of his future children), he also tripped over his robes on the way into the Great Hall that evening, and managed to knock an entire pitcher of pumpkin juice over himself. He didn't even _like_ pumpkin juice. Laughter echoed through the rafters, bouncing around the illusory evening sky, and Brendon flushed bright red. The only good part was, the pumpkin juice hid most of his blush.

Biting his lip and clutching his dripping robes to hold them up off the floor, he left the Hall. He left a smeary orange trail all the way down to the Hufflepuff common room, and for once not even the homey warmth of his dormitory could cheer him. He changed into clean robes and left the wet ones in a soggy, sticky pile in the bathroom. When he was dressed, he stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was damp and sticking up at the back, and there was a rim of orange around the frames of his glasses that wouldn't wipe away. He sighed. There was no way he was going back to the Great Hall tonight.

Luckily for him, the kitchens were close to his dormitory, and the house elves were delighted to feed him. By the time he'd gorged himself on pasties and cake, he thought he might be willing to face the world again.

Then he got back to his dorm and realized he still hadn't finished the extra work for McGonagall. Brendon sighed, and took out his scroll. At least the day was nearly over.

On Friday, Brendon woke up and smiled at his bed curtains. He climbed out of bed and smiled at Spencer, who glared and waved at him to keep his smile to himself until after breakfast at least. He got showered and dressed, and headed to the Great Hall, beaming at random Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws who crossed his path. Most of the people he smiled at gave him the same kind of looks he'd gotten from his Spencer, but one of the Gryffindor boys gave him a wide, surprised grin in return, and Brendon felt his mood surge even brighter. He didn't bother smiling at Slytherins; he might be clumsy, but he wasn't a complete moron.

This was going to be a good day, he just knew it.

They had sausages and muffins for breakfast, and the serving platters didn't run out of anything Brendon wanted, the whole meal. Even better, he managed to make it all the way through breakfast without spilling anything on himself. He was practically floating by the time he left the Great Hall for his lessons. Not even the fact that he had double potions with the Ravenclaws could blight his good mood.

Professor Snape, though ... Professor Snape was a professional mood blighter. Well, perhaps not, as he was already a professional potions master, but he was at least a dedicated amateur mood blighter. He usually saved his worst insults and punishments for Gryffindors, but his second-worst were plenty bad enough for Brendon. He was working by himself, because Spencer used the fact that they shared this lesson with Ravenclaw as an excuse to spend time with his friend Ryan, so Brendon didn't even have a partner to help diffuse Snape's searing criticism. He got so flustered that he accidentally burned an entire handful of flobberworms to the bottom of his cauldron. Snape gave him an unimpressed snort.

"I trust, Mr. Urie, that you will be show more care when you're scrubbing out your cauldron after the lesson ... along with the cauldrons of all the other students."

Brendon winced. Cauldron scrubbing was dirty, tedious work, and he always got bits of eye of newt under his fingernails. It was also utterly pointless busywork, since Snape could have cleaned them all with a simple Scourgify spell. Brendon didn't dare protest, though, so he just gave Snape a sickly smile and nodded. While everyone else filed out of the room, he rolled up his sleeves, settled his glasses as firmly on his nose as possible, and got to work.

He was only about halfway done when the next batch of students started trickling in. Brendon scrunched lower over the cauldron he was scrubbing, hoping to go unnoticed. The Slytherins could be downright nasty about jokes and pranks, and the Gryffindors, for all that they were less malicious, weren't much better.

Brendon was secretly grateful that the inter-house rivalries kept the worst pranksters of Gryffindor and Slytherin from teaming up together. If they ever got over the sniping long enough to put their devious little minds together, Hogwarts would never be safe again.

Since Brendon was wishing and hoping that no one would notice him, of course someone called out to him immediately. "Hey!" Brendon looked up, blowing the hair out of his face, to see the nice boy who'd lent him a quill the day before.

"Hi," Brendon replied. He wanted to wipe the sweat off his forehead, but his hands were covered in cauldron grime. He settled for twisting his shoulder up and rubbing his face against it. "I have your quill in my bag. I can't really get it for you right now," he said, waving his dirty hands in explanation, "but it should be near the top, if you want to dig it out."

The boy blinked. "Um, okay. I just wanted to say hi, actually."

"Oh." Brendon frowned. "Hi."

"Hi." The boy's face was rather pink, but he had warm brown eyes and a nice smile. He stood there for another minute, staring awkwardly at Brendon and smiling his nice smile. After a long silence, he cleared his throat and said, "Yeah, I'll just get my quill, then."

"Sure," Brendon said, feeling unusually self-conscious, even for him. "Right over there." He used his foot to point at the bag and nearly overbalanced into the cauldron. The boy stepped forward and caught hold of Brendon's arm, steadying him. Brendon flashed him a grin. "Thanks."

The boy's nice smile got even bigger and, if possible, nicer. Brendon suddenly realized that he was the same boy who had shared his good mood this morning. "You know Gryffindors," he said. "We love to rescue people."

"I'm a fabulous damsel in distress," Brendon said wryly.

"You're not a damsel," the boy mumbled, looking even pinker. His eyes went kind of wide, and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he was interrupted by the return of Professor Snape.

"I trust you have a reason for standing about gawking at Mr. Urie when you should be preparing to impress me with your potion-making skills, Mr. Walker," Snape said icily, glaring down his nose. To be fair, it was a particularly long nose, and it probably invited staring down, like some banisters invited sliding down.

Despite the fact that Brendon usually wanted to shrivel up and blow away when Snape was mean to him, something about the way he glared at the Gryffindor boy ��" _Walker_, Brendon repeated to himself ��" made Brendon huff out an angry breath. Walker just nodded equably, though, like Snape didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Today might just be the day I do impress you, Professor," he said.

Snape rolled his eyes. "I look forward to it," he replied in a voice that made it clear how very unlikely he thought that prospect. "Now get to your seat, before your insolence costs your house points."

Any sane person would have scrambled for his seat, but Walker must have been at least slightly crazy, because he stayed where he was for another moment, shuffling his feet against the stone floor despite Professor Snape's glare. Finally, he lifted his hand in a tiny wave and said, "Bye, Brendon," before turning to go join his housemates.

"Bye," Brendon echoed softly. He didn't remember telling the boy his name. He felt like he'd missed something important, and it made his heart beat fast and his hands go sweaty. He stared down at the half-cleaned cauldron as though it held answers. Then he snorted at the sudden mental image of Professor Trelawny leaning over a cauldron, pointing out omens in the bottom as though it were a giant teacup. He resumed his scrubbing, carefully ignoring the sounds of the potion lesson commencing behind him.

He thought he felt eyes on him more than once, but he managed not to look up.

***

Though he'd kept his eyes on his work all through the Gryffindor and Slytherin potion lesson, Brendon couldn't stop staring at the Gryffindor table during dinner. He didn't usually; the other houses mocked Hufflepuff often enough that Brendon had made it a point to pay them little attention. It wasn't much of a revenge, but Brendon wasn't really a vengeful kind of guy. Ignoring them made him feel better, though, when he was being teased for being a klutz _and_ a Hufflepuff.

It had, however, left him unprepared for his new interest in the nice Gryffindor boy. Walker. He felt twitchy ��" even twitchier than usual ��" as he flicked glances across the Great Hall at Walker, who sat amidst a group of laughing boys. Sometimes Walker was looking back at him, and that was even worse. Brendon was so distracted that he very nearly ate his tie instead of the chip he'd been aiming for.

Eventually, he gave up on eating and stood up. He wasn't surprised when standing up nearly overturned the bench he was sharing with Spencer and three other people, but they were. Brendon scrunched his face up apologetically as they grumbled at him. Seriously, though. They'd been sharing a house with him for nearly four years. They should know what he was like.

Brendon usually hung around the common room after dinner, curling up in an armchair to read or plonking himself down near the fireplace with his guitar. Tonight he felt too restless to settle. He went to the dorm and got out his homework. It was a Friday night, but there was no rule that said he had to wait until the last moment to get it done, right?

The quill he'd borrowed from Walker the day before was pressed between his Transfiguration book and his notes for Ancient Runes. Brendon picked it up and ran one fingertip over it. It was just a normal, black quill, stained at the tip with ink, and with a little curl at the end of the feather. Maybe Walker twisted it around his finger while he took notes on the various Goblin Rebellions. Maybe he nibbled on it while writing poetry. Maybe Brendon was being a little ridiculous.

Irritated with himself, Brendon shoved his books and scrolls back into his bag and stood up, clutching the quill tight. He walked determinedly out of his dorm, through the common room, and out into the castle. He kept his eyes peeled as he returned to the Great Hall, but he didn't see Walker along the way. He wasn't at the Gryffindor table any longer, either. Sighing, Brendon slouched in the doorway, running his finger over the end of the quill as he thought.

He would have liked to claim a stroke of genius, but really it was sheer luck that Nearly Headless Nick floated straight through him. "Oh!" Brendon said, fighting off the shivers that crawled over him at the ghostly contact. "You're the Gryffindor ghost, aren't you?"

Nick paused and drew himself up. "I am," he said proudly.

"Brilliant! Could you tell me where their common room is?"

Nick gave him a considering look, and Brendon focused on looking as innocent and trustworthy as possible. It must have worked, because the ghost said, "They're in the second highest tower. Do you know the portrait of the fat lady there?" Brendon nodded, because he'd gotten seriously, deeply lost about fifteen times during his first year and had wandered past that portrait repeatedly in his attempts to find himself again. "She won't let you in without a password," Nick told him, "But she can let the Gryffindors know they have a visitor."

"Thank you!" Brendon called back over his shoulder, because he was already hurrying away.

Despite rushing up the tower, it took Brendon a good ten minutes to gather his nerve to approach the painting. Then he had to wait even longer as the fat lady passed along the message that he was there. Finally, the painting swung open to reveal an entrance, and a curious face peeked out at him.

"Yes?" It was a girl with bouncy blonde hair. Brendon had been sharing lessons with her for years, but he had no idea what her name was.

"Um, is Walker in?" he asked, fighting not to fidget.

The girl raised her eyebrows and pivoted to call out, "Jon," back into the room.

_Jon_. Jon Walker. Brendon's face flushed red for no reason, and he bit his lip. The quill was getting a little sweaty and twisted in his hand, and he tried to smooth it out. He was still fussing with it when Jon stepped out into the corridor.

"Brendon," Jon said. He sounded out of breath, and Brendon wondered if he'd had to run to get here. Maybe the Gryffindors had a bigger common room than the Hufflepuffs.

"Hi," Brendon said. "Jon." He tried to say it like he'd always known Jon's name.

Jon grinned at him, bright and happy. "I didn't expect to see you."

"I have your quill," Brendon said, thrusting it at him. Jon's smile dimmed, and Brendon swallowed hard. "And I wanted to say thank you."

"You're welcome," Jon said, taking it and dragging a finger along its length. "Really. You could have kept it. Or given it back next week."

Brendon wiped his empty, sweaty palms on his robes. "Um, thanks. But I also wanted to ask … We're going to Hogsmeade this weekend."

"We are," Jon confirmed. His grin was suddenly back, and it was growing.

"And I was thinking," Brendon plowed on. "That maybe we could go together. In, um, the interest of inter-house cooperation. Or something."

"I'd love to," Jon said. "In the interest of me getting to spend time with you."

Brendon blushed even harder and maybe squeaked. "Okay. Okay, great. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah." Jon didn't make any move to go back in his common room or anything, so after a long, delightfully uncomfortable moment, Brendon gave a little wave and left.

On the way back to his common room, Brendon fell down a short flight of stairs, tripped into a suit of armor, and tore his robe on a picture frame. He didn't notice any of that, though.

His feet might have been tripping over the flagstones, but he felt like he was walking on air.


End file.
